


The Gift of Acting Out

by intotheruins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Castiel in the Bunker, First Time, Human Castiel, M/M, Multi, Sibling Incest, Team Free Will, Team Free Will Big Bang, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-06-27 10:50:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15683931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intotheruins/pseuds/intotheruins
Summary: People are behaving strangely in the small town of Roxie, doing anything from upending their entire lives to committing murder. Castiel and the Winchesters take the case, and end up finding themselves behaving just as bizarrely--maybe even more so.





	The Gift of Acting Out

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, the absolutely adorable art is by [winchesterchola!](http://winchesterchola.tumblr.com) Thank you so much! (Reblog the art post [HERE](http://winchesterchola.tumblr.com/tagged/the-gift-of-acting-out)) Second of all, thank you to [my-wayward-karma](http://my-wayward-karma.tumblr.com) for betaing! 
> 
> So, I actually started writing this fic a few years ago, while I was at school in the UK. I wrote a chunk of it in a mad rush and then lost interest for a while. Every time I went back to it, I couldn't quite make it do what I wanted. So I left it alone, and decided to use the Team Free Will Big Bang to finally get the damn thing done. I think it actually came out pretty okay. I have one more wincestiel that will be posted sometime in December, and after that I probably won't be posting Supernatural fic for a while, everything in my projects list is currently either Sherlock or Marvel focused (and I've developed an obsession with Gotham and nygmobblepot, which is the greatest ship name EVER).

 

Sammy is shaking, Cas is bleeding, and Dean can’t drive fast enough. He practically stands on the gas pedal anyway. The night whips by in a frenzied stream of street lights and stars; in the backseat Castiel whimpers—Dean lets out a hiss and slams the heel of his hand against the steering wheel.

“Hold on, Cas!”

“Dean...”

“You're gonna be fine, buddy,” Dean says, doesn't even really think about what he's saying, just lets the words stream out. “Sam?”

Dean glances to the side. Sam's huddled against the passenger door like he's trying to make himself as small as he possibly can. Wide eyes stare out the windshield, and a bolt of panic lances through Dean.

“Fuck!” Dean hisses, and slams his hand against the wheel again, and again, hard enough to make the bones in his wrist ache. He can't afford to break down. He can't afford to, but goddamnit, he _needs_ to.

He flings a hand back over the seat and Castiel immediately finds it, gripping hard enough to send a spike of pain up Dean's arm. Cas squeezes once and releases him—and then the idiot tries to crawl up over the seat, crying out when he heaves his body forward. The sound is sharp and too much in the small space and Dean jumps, jerks the wheel and damn near plows right into an oncoming car.

“Shit, shit shit, Cas, sit the fuck down!”

Castiel collapses back into his seat with a low groan, bloodied hand gripping his shoulder. Sam goes still against the door.

Dean stares straight ahead and refuses to let himself think.

If he does, he'll end up just like Sam.

~

57 hours ago

~

“So, get this,” Sam says by way of greeting, and Dean almost turns around to go right back to bed.

“No.” Sam frowns, but Dean holds up a hand. “No. Sam. Not until I get my coffee.”

Sam chuckles and turns back to the laptop. “Okay, old man.”

Dean stiffens, eying Sam in sleepy outrage. Sam's chuckles turn to outright laughter.

“It's okay, Dean, I get it.” Sam grins. “We have a home now, you've gone soft. Can't focus without your eight hours and caffeine.”

Dean's torn between dumping the pot of coffee all over Sam's head and giving him a great big hug. He's about 95% positive that's the first time Sam's ever called the bunker “home,” and it pleases him so much that he decides to let that old man comment go.

“Whatever,” Dean says cheerfully. He picks up the fancy silver pot from its tray and grabs a cup. “Cas up yet?”

“I don't think he's been to sleep yet,” Sam says. His tone is mildly concerned, almost parental. “Kevin introduced him to video games. I think the strategist in Cas has fallen a little in love with them. They've been playing Diablo since eight thirty last night.”

Okay, this is something Dean needs to see. He drops a single sugar cube into his coffee and wanders back up the stairs towards Kevin's room, ignoring Sam's indignant shouts about cases and Nebraska. It can wait fifteen minutes. Maybe twenty.

Kevin's room is at the very end of the hall. The door is wide open, and Dean can hear the sounds of video game battles before he sees them. The strong smell of fake cheese and corn chips hits him right in the face as he gets closer—he makes a face and takes a sip of his coffee to try and combat it.

“Get it, Cas, _kill it!_ ” Kevin shrieks.

“Your yelling is not going to get us anywhere.”

Dean hears a frustrated yelping sound, followed by a frantic shuffle and then complete silence, except for the background music in the game. When Dean pokes his head around the doorway, he finds Kevin standing over Castiel, a tight glare on his face and an empty bowl upside-down in his hands.

It's upside-down because there are Cheetos on the floor, Castiel's legs, his controller, and, most importantly, in his hair.

Dean almost drops his coffee he laughs so hard.

“He let it kill me!” Kevin snarls, gesturing with the bowl towards the screen like Dean knows exactly what “it” is.

Castiel tips his head back to look up at Kevin. Cheetos rain down out of his hair. “If I hadn't, I wouldn't have been able to achieve our goal.”

“ _You let it kill me._ ” Kevin drops the bowl and gets both hands in Castiel's hair, rubbing the powdered cheese in with determined vigor. Castiel stares up at him in astonishment for about three seconds before he seems to get with the program by grabbing a handful of the Cheetos and smashing them against the side of Kevin's face.

This is, without a doubt, the greatest thing Dean has never seen in his _life._ The only way it could possibly be better is if he had his phone and could film it.

“You do not.” Kevin snatches up his own handful of Cheetos and gets a hold of Castiel's plain grey t-shirt. “Just let me.” He yanks Cas's shirt out from his chest. “Die!”

The crumbled Cheetos get dumped down inside Castiel's shirt, and then Kevin smashes them in for good measure. When Castiel just stares up at him in shock Kevin leaps away, cackling.

The former angel's eyes darken. Kevin squeaks and zips past Dean.

“So.” Dean bites off any residual chuckles and draws in a breath. “You guys having fun?”

“There is powdered cheese ground into my skin,” Castiel says darkly. He puts his controller down and pulls his shirt out from his body, staring morosely at his own chest. Sighing, he strips it off and tosses it to the side. He's dusted in glaringly orange crumbs, but it doesn't stop Dean from sneaking an appreciative glance.

“Is it morning?” Castiel asks suddenly, eyes flicking over Dean's bathrobe in surprise.

“Yup, little after nine,” Dean says. “You should come downstairs and get some real food. Cheetos are great and all, but trust me, you will feel sick as hell later if you don't get something else in you.”

“Alright,” Castiel agrees. “I'm going to take a shower first.”

Dean nods and watches Castiel walk barefoot down the hall to his own room. He’s been human for a year, but it's still a little odd for Dean to see him so relaxed and informal. Odd, but nice.

Sam's still reading over whatever article he's found on the laptop when Dean comes back downstairs.

“Why is Kevin hiding in the kitchen?”

Dean snickers. “Because Cas is playing Spock to Kevin's Kirk and it's not going well.”

Sam squints at the screen before looking up for answers in Dean’s face. When he finds none, he shrugs and says, “Oookay. So. We've got a weird one in Nebraska. Town called Roxie, they've had eight deaths in the last week.”

“Same cause of death?” Dean asks, but Sam immediately shakes his head.

“No, that's what's weird. One guy stabbed his wife with an ice pick. A bartender cut open her dad's throat while they were both at work, and then burned down the bar. Fifteen year old twin sisters killed both of their parents and then disappeared, no one's been able to find them.” Sam braces his forearms on the table and leans towards Dean. “And then it gets even weirder. Aside from the deaths, people have been quitting their jobs without notice and then pop up days later doing something completely new. This one guy in his sixties shut down his family's hardware store, sold his house and bought a truck and trailer, and then two days later he proposed to his best friend. Guess he said yes, and they left town.”

“That's... not so bad,” Dean says slowly. Kinda sweet, actually, not that he's saying it out loud.

Sam smiles. “Yeah, that was sort of neat, but according to the interviews it went completely against everything his friends and family knew about him. And there are a lot more stories like that.”

The sound of soft footsteps on the stairs draws the brothers' attention. Castiel is wearing nothing but a pair of faded blue jeans, hair still damp and hanging into his eyes. Softly, Dean curses and averts his gaze to his half empty coffee mug. He kinda wishes he had the guts to just say something, like the guy in Sam's story.

Sam smiles and waves a hand towards the coffee pot, which he's apparently refilled. That smile makes a far more frequent appearance, now that the Winchesters have something startlingly close to stability. It makes Dean's chest ache in the most awesome way.

“I killed Kevin again,” Castiel says smugly as he pours himself a cup of coffee. Sam blinks in confusion while Dean lets out a sharp snort. “His character,” he adds when he sees Sam's expression.

Behind them, Kevin slips silently along the wall. Dean watches him run up the stairs just as quietly, snickering to himself as he disappears down the hall.

“I think Kevin's going to kill you now,” Dean says casually.

Castiel smirks. “He can't. I paused the game in a very specific place, if he tries to kill me now we'll lose the artifact we've been attempting to find for the last several hours.”

Upstairs, Kevin lets out a shrill yell that sounds vaguely like _fuck you_ , followed by some kind of bizarre war cry.

Castiel blinks. “I may have underestimated his desire for revenge.”

“Some strategist you are,” Dean snickers, and only laughs harder when Castiel glares at him.

“Guys? Case?” Sam gestures exaggeratedly at the computer. “People dying? Maybe we can focus.”

Castiel nods and pulls out a seat beside Sam. Dean refills his coffee and takes his own seat across from them.

“All right,” he says finally. “What else we got?”

~

31 hours ago

~

They make the sixty-nine mile drive to Roxie the next morning, after spending the previous day researching. They find a fairly nice looking little motel right on the outskirts of town called The Hideaway, which is incredibly unoriginal but also promises a lack of garish decoration. Sam gets them one room—Dean's just not comfortable splitting up, not after everything they've all been through over the years. The interior is definitely nicer than they usually get. The walls are a light brown, the carpet just a shade darker, and the two queen sized beds are covered in forest green blankets with lighter green leaf patterns sewn into them. Nothing fancy, but Dean's brain isn't being tricked into thinking he's taken a dose of acid, either, so he counts it as a win.

They discussed potential causes during the short trip, but so far the only one that makes sense is witchcraft. Sam and Cas wound up arguing over whether it seemed more like a curse or a hex, and Dean tuned out after that. They couldn't do any real research until they got there, anyway.

“We going in as feds?” Sam asks as he sets up the laptop on the table, under the one and only window.

“Nah, let's do journalists,” Dean says. “We haven't done that in ages. Journalists seem to go better in small towns anyway.”

“True, people are more likely to talk to us,” Sam agrees. “Cas? You good with that?”

Castiel looks up from his duffel. He's sitting cross-legged on Dean's bed, clothes and toiletries spilling into his lap. “I don't believe I've pretended to be a journalist before.”

“It's easy, easier than playing a fed,” Dean assures him. “You just tell people you're writing an article, and then ask questions. Kinda like we would as feds, but with more freedom.”

“People aren't as surprised by the weirder questions from journalists, either,” Sam adds. “That helps.”

Castiel frowns and tips his head, considering for a moment before he gives a single nod. “Okay. Where do we start?”

Dean checks the clock hanging over the door. “It's almost 11. Too early to hit the bars. Lunch?”

“Sounds good to me,” Sam says, and Castiel nods in agreement.

They find a promising cafe about a mile from the motel. It has a black and white checkered floor, bright red booths, and even an old jukebox sitting by the door. The whole thing is very '50s, which normally kinda disturbs Dean, but when he walks in he gets hit with a whiff of fresh pie and all his worries melt away.

“This is quaint,” Castiel says as they take a booth by the window, Dean and Cas on one side, Sam on the other.

Dean snorts. Only Cas would use words like “quaint.”

Their waitress is a chipper woman in her sixties, though Dean gives her a wink anyway because it's kind of his default setting. She calls him cute and pats him on the shoulder, which makes him feel about five years old, and Sam seems to think it's the funniest thing he's seen in a while. Even Castiel chuckles a little. Dean gets his usual bacon cheeseburger and fries; Sam gets chicken and veggies. When she turns to Castiel, he simply says, “I want the same thing Dean is having,” and the waitress gives them the strangest smile. Not unkind, just... knowing.

“You guys want drinks?” she asks. “We have great shakes here.”

“I'll just have a coke,” Dean says, and Sam echos him.

“I'd like a shake,” Castiel says. “I've never had a shake.”

The waitress—Dean lets his eyes dart down and sees “Hazel” printed on her name tag—seems to find this absolutely appalling. “Sweetie, you haven't lived until you've tried a shake, much less our shakes. What flavor do you like?”

Castiel looks helplessly between Dean and Sam. Dean knows all of Castiel's favorite foods, but Sam knows far more about Cas's sweet tooth. Which seems sort of backwards to Dean, but whatever.

“Go with strawberry,” Sam tells him. Castiel nods and repeats it to Hazel. She jots it down with a smile and a, “You got it!” and disappears into the kitchen.

When their food comes, Dean takes that slice of pickle that always seems to come with a burger and puts it on Castiel's plate, along with the pickle slices and the tomato. Castiel piles them on with what he already had, and gives Dean all of his onions. Then he takes five fries, sets them on the edge of Sam's plate, and spears a few carrots with his fork. Dean snorts, and Hazel watches the whole process with that knowing smile from before.

“We've been doing this for a while,” Sam says when he spots her watching, offering a quick but genuine grin.

She chuckles. “I can see that. I’ll be right back with the shake.”

The shake comes in one of those of those curvey, old-fashioned glasses. There's a fluffy pile of whipped cream and a cherry on top, and a straw only just poking its head up above the rim of the glass.

“You might need this.” Hazel pulls a long spoon from her apron and hands it to Castiel. “It's a very thick shake.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says solemnly, like he's just accepted a prize or something.

And then he smiles widely at her, all teeth and gums and crinkled eyes.

Dean ducks his head, but not before he sees Sam do the exact same thing.

“You're very welcome, sweetie,” Hazel says with a wide smile of her own. She reaches over and scrubs a hand through his hair like he's a child. “You let me know if you don't like that flavor and I'll get you another one, okay?”

“She's nice,” Sam says after Hazel has gone.

Dean nods absently; he's just taken a bite of his burger, and it's one of the best he's had in ages. The burgers he makes back at the bunker are kind of jealous. Beside him, Castiel lets out a quiet moan as he bites into his own, and Sam sighs through his nose and closes his eyes as he chews on a mouthful of chicken.

“Wow, this chicken is _great_.”

Dean nods enthusiastically. “I'd drive here again just for this burger, man. How's your shake, Cas?”

When Castiel doesn't answer, Dean turns to find him with his lips wrapped around the straw, eyes closed and throat working steadily. Dean swallows hard, eyes snapping to the purse of Castiel's mouth around the straw. What he's doing is perfectly innocent, but fuck if Dean's brain hasn't turned it into something downright pornographic.

Dean blinks and quickly looks away, turning his attention firmly back to his burger where it should be.

Castiel finally stops drinking long enough to gasp in a deep lungful of air. “This shake is extremely good,” he informs them. Dean watches him scoop up whipped cream with his index finger and then suck it into his mouth, and has to force down a whimper.

He's thoroughly distracted when Sam reaches across the table and grabs the glass. Castiel looks mildly surprised, but lets it go and watches Sam wrap his own lips around the straw.

“Damn, that is good,” Sam says with a satisfied sigh. He hands the glass back to Castiel.

Huh. Dean stares, but Sam looks perfectly fine. “You okay?” he asks anyway. It wasn't entirely unusual for Sam to want something sweet, but to just take it like that wasn’t exactly Sam-like behavior.

Sam grins at him. “I'm great, jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean fires back automatically, and kicks Sam in the shin. He steels himself for a kick back, but instead Sam darts a hand under the table and grabs Dean's ankle. He hauls Dean’s foot forward and traps it between his thighs. His large, very powerful thighs.

“Uh.” Dean yanks, but he doesn't have the right leverage to really get away unless he wants to hurt Sam. “Dude?”

“It's fine,” Sam says, and smiles, slow. “It's fine, Dean.”

He squeezes his thighs a little tighter, and goes back to eating his chicken.

Dean, on the other hand, just sits there with his burger still in his hands and stares. Sam's now acting like nothing weird is happening. Maybe he's just trying to get a rise out of Dean. Like holding Dean's foot captive is going to accomplish that—he relaxes and takes another bite of burger, determined to ignore Sam.

The rest of the meal is more or less normal, though it takes them longer than usual to finish; none of them want to rush through such good food. Dean even tries a sip of Castiel's shake, which turns out to be pretty damn good, too.

Hazel comes to take their plates after nearly an hour, and as she's stacking them into a bin she says, “So, I just pulled a blueberry pie out of the oven. You guys want a slice?”

“Definitely,” Dean says with a grin.

Castiel utters an affirmative, and then Sam goes and shocks Dean by saying, “Yeah, I’d like one, too.”

“You want pie?” Dean says, stunned. Hazel is already disappearing back into the kitchen.

Sam pauses. Something flickers in his eyes, a brief awareness, but then he shrugs and says, “Yeah, why not. It smells great, and if it's as good as everything else then I guess I have to try it.”

Dean's foot is still trapped between Sam's legs. He wriggles it in an unsuccessful attempt to kick him again. “You sure you're okay?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Dean, I'm fine. Quit worrying. You worry too much.”

“Do not,” Dean mutters petulantly, but he relaxes, even when Sam reaches down and absently shoves up Dean's jeans so he can stroke his ankle.

That feels kinda nice, actually.

The pie is amazing. The crust is buttery and not too thick, the filling just the right amount of sweet. Dean takes his time with it, savoring every bite, letting it just sit there on his tongue so he can soak up the flavor before he chews. Sam, on the other hand, devours the pie like it's going to grow legs and run out the door, and he manages to do this with one hand because he still has the other on Dean's foot. Castiel is somewhere in the middle, taking one bite nice and slow and the next a little too fast. He picks it apart and eats just the crust, then just the filling, then both together, making low, happy little noises as he does so.

It's a little after 1pm by the time they finally leave the diner. Dean leaves a massive tip for Hazel, almost as much as their meal cost but hell, the pie alone was worth it. Besides, she really was nice, if a little odd.

Sam glances at his phone, and both his eyebrows make a leap for his hairline. “Wow, we were in there a while.”

“Yeah.” Dean stops by the driver's door but doesn't get in yet. “Bars won't really be filling up for a few hours, where do you want to hit until then?”

“I don't,” Sam says.

He... what? Dean mentally flails, looking for a more articulate word for his surprise than “buh?” Castiel finds it for him.

“Wouldn't it be a waste of time not to look elsewhere while we wait?” Castiel asks.

Sam shrugs. “So what? Do you want to go wandering around town asking people stupid questions when we can't even get a decent drink while we do it?”

Castiel opens his mouth, pauses. Frowns. Slowly, he shakes his head. “No. I don't.”

Dean gapes, but when Sam turns this flippant look on him he finds himself blurting out, “Nah, me either. Let's go back to the motel and find some porn.”

“Sure,” Sam says easily, and now Dean _knows_ something is wrong.

The problem is, he doesn’t really seem to care.

~

24 hours ago

~

For nearly five hours, the three of them lounge around the motel room and watch whatever bad porn Dean can find on TV. Sam sprawls on his front on his bed, occasionally making comments but mostly just watching. Castiel is stretched out beside him, also on his front, and Dean sits with his back to the headboard on his own bed, one leg crooked up and his hand absently brushing over his erection every so often. Like that's a totally okay thing to do with his brother and a former angel _right there._

Castiel is full of questions. Does that really feel good, is kissing always so complicated, how can spanking be fun and hurt at the same time? When he asks the last one, Sam rolls up onto his side, lifts his hand and, to Dean's shock (and, he's mortified to realize, arousal) brings it down hard over Castiel's jeans-covered ass. The angel jumps and whips around to look at Sam with huge eyes.

“I understand now,” he says, and goes back to watching TV.

At some point, Dean says, “Something's wrong,” and both Sam and Castiel nod, but no one really seems to care.

Just after 6pm, Dean looks over at the two of them and says, “Let's go out.”

Sam twists to look at Dean, grins. Blurts out, “Hell yeah!” and scrambles off the bed.

“What does 'going out' entail?” Castiel asks as he, too, gets up.

Cas looks good; Dean licks his lips as he rakes his gaze over him. Just jeans and a black t-shirt, and a good pair of boots. Sam has one of his plaid shirts on over a green t-shirt, and Dean himself is dressed exactly like Cas, only he's still got his coat on. They all look good. Dean grins, slow and heated, like he's the fucking Cheshire Cat about to lead them all to the Mad Hatter.

“Drinking,” Dean says.

“Dancing,” Sam says.

“And maybe some fighting,” Dean adds.

Castiel's eyes are wide, as wide as when Sam spanked him and fuck, that shouldn't turn him on, what the fuck is _wrong_ with him? “I would like to try all of that,” he says. “I want...”

Just like Sam earlier, a brief flash of awareness pierces through the haze that's fallen over Castiel's gaze. He looks at Sam, who only grins encouragingly, and then at Dean, who can't see anything but how blue Cas's eyes are, how nice his mouth looks, how much he wants to kiss him and show him every dirty pleasure humanity has to offer.

“I want to try everything,” and that's it, they're all piling out the door and into the Impala, and Dean loses whatever awareness he was trying to hold on to.

In the first bar they find, Dean takes a bottle of whiskey from behind the counter and rips off the top. The bartender shouts at him but Dean doesn't care, doesn't care about anything except the burn of the alcohol flowing down his throat. Sam laughs and takes the bottle from him, slinging an arm around Dean's shoulders as he does so. Castiel stands in front of them with wide, wide eyes, watches Sam drink and knead his brother's neck between his fingers.

“Mmm, Sammy.” Dean tips his head forward, leans into Sam's side. He's so fucking huge, he can just take Dean's weight without an issue. Seems to like it, even, if the way he strokes his hand down Dean's spine is any indication.

“We need to get Cas drunk,” Sam gasps as he lowers the bottle. “Fuck, Dean, there are so many things we need to do to him.”

Dean grins, quick and feral. “Wanna get drunk, Cas?”

Slowly, Castiel nods. He takes the bottle when Sam hands it to him, tips his head back and starts to down it like it's water. When he tries to lower it, Sam's hand shoots out and catches the bottom, shoves it back up.

“Come on, take it all,” Sam growls.

Dean swears, and the next thing he knows he's got his face buried in Sam's neck and he's biting, not hard enough to break skin, just enough to mark. Sam groans and lets his head fall back, giving Dean more access to a whole expanse of rough skin that's just begging for—

What is he doing? This is his brother.

Dean bites a little harder. Who the fuck cares?

Castiel's coughing, Dean realizes distantly. He lifts his head to look. The bottle is empty, or at least he assumes it was because there's no liquid on the floor, just broken glass. There's a trickle of whiskey running down either side of Castiel's mouth and dripping off his chin. He's closer to them now, close enough that Sam has a hand wrapped around the back of his head, and when Dean starts to lean forward Sam swears softly and gets his other hand up in Dean's hair, pushes him forward.

Castiel's jaw is rough with stubble when Dean swipes his tongue over it, licking away the alcohol. Castiel lets out a low whine and tips his head back, leans in closer so Dean can do the other side.

“Yeah, fuck, clean him up, Dean,” Sam mutters. “God, what the hell is wrong with us?”

He sounds momentarily helpless. Dean just says, “Dunno, don't care,” against Castiel's cheek and grins when the former angel shudders.

Something is going on behind them. Someone is yelling. Dean flicks his tongue against the corner of Castiel's mouth and marvels at how unimportant everyone else in the room is. They're all safe, no one is dying, which means he can focus everything he is on the two most important people in his world.

But then the someone does something that pisses off Sam, because he breaks away from Dean and that's just not okay. Dean pulls Castiel in tight against him so they can lean against each other, and as one they turn their heads to see what's happening.

The bartender has come around the counter and is up in Sam's face. Dean's gotta give the guy credit because he's short, maybe 5'5”, and he's a skinny little dude, but he's still toe-to-toe with Sam in all his massive glory, yelling like Sam isn't intimidating him in the slightest. Sam just looks amused, and a little annoyed.

There are a hundred eyes all staring at them with everything from mild arousal to complete horror.

Dean smirks. He can give them something to be horrified about.

He's snaking a hand down Castiel's chest when Sam throws a punch. It comes out of nowhere, sharp and fast and the bartender isn't just down, he's _out._ Sam throws his head back and laughs, and when someone lets out an outraged cry Sam whirls around and throws both arms out to the side.

“Who wants some?” he yells gleefully, and the next thing Dean knows they're buried in sweaty, drunken bodies trying to teach them a lesson.

Ha. Might be some military guys here, maybe some people who worked out on a regular basis, but it's unlikely any of them are hunters, and that means they have the edge.

Dean ends up back to back with Sam, punching out anyone who makes the mistake of getting too close. A few people who have probably passed three sheets to the wind have managed to throw a few punches that landed in the wrong places. The whole thing quickly devolves into a bar-wide brawl, like some ridiculous old movie. Both brothers check frequently to make sure Castiel is okay. He's still a good fighter without his mojo, but he's gone from someone who always attacks head-on to a stealthy little scrapper. No one sees him coming unless he wants them to, and even then they're laid out on the floor, dazed or blacked out, within seconds of seeing him.

He's quick, he's graceful, and he grins fiercely like this is the most fun thing he's done in years. It turns Dean the fuck on.

Sam throws an arm around Dean's waist and yanks him back. A sizable erection grinds into Dean's ass, and he wonders a little wildly if it's the fight, Dean himself, or Castiel that's turned Sam on.

He kinda hopes it's all three.

“Let's try the next bar,” Sam calls over the riot of shouts, breaking glass, and fists connecting with flesh.

None of them are drunk enough yet to not drive, so they climb back into the Impala and randomly roam the streets until they find the next bar. Or, as it turns out, club. Dean's not usually one for clubs, but the music is a steady, hypnotic throb—the flashing lights throw deep shadows into alcoves and corners. There are small podiums scattered around the club, with a single pole in the center of each. The people dancing there aren't entirely nude, or maybe they are, Dean can't quite tell—they're covered in glowing neon paint that conceals skin while accentuating the fluidity of their movements.

“This,” Sam yells over the noise, looking straight at Castiel, “is where we dance!”

He strides straight through the crowd and up onto the nearest podium, saying something that makes the dancer there scurry down and away.

“Oh fuck,” Dean groans, at the same time Castiel's eyes go wide and needy.

“He's...” Castiel steps closer to Dean, leans into him—Dean tosses an arm around his shoulders to keep him there. “Is he going to?”

Dean grips Castiel harder so he can steer him through the crowd, until they're right at the base of the podium. Sam looks down, tosses them a cheeky wink, and wraps his hands around the pole.

“He's going to,” Dean growls in Castiel's ear. He licks the shell of it and revels in the punched-out moan he's gifted with.

When Sam whirls around the pole the first time, Dean thinks he should look awkward, but he doesn't. Years of training and honing his reflexes have made Sam graceful despite his size, and he translates it into dance like it's the easiest thing in the world. His movements are sinuous; he wraps himself around the pole like it's a lover, whirls and swings and slides and doesn't even have to work his hips to make it the sexiest goddamn thing Dean's ever laid eyes on.

Until Sam looks straight at them, rocks his hips forward, and _licks the fucking pole._

The combination of the sight and Castiel’s hand abruptly sliding over his hair cock has Dean spitting out a rough curse. He buries his face in Castiel's neck and sucks at the skin, too lust-crazed for something more coordinated but desperate to return as much pleasure as he can.

“He's beautiful,” Castiel gasps—Dean groans and nods his agreement into Cas's throat.

Sam jumps down after that. He watches the two for a moment through narrow eyes before he grabs Castiel around the back of the neck and hauls him forward.

“Wanna try dancing?”

Castiel arches against Sam, tips his head back and parts his lips. Sam bends enough to lick at the corner of his mouth, like Dean had earlier, but he doesn't dip in any deeper.

“I want everything,” Castiel says, breathless and determined.

Sam hisses and buries his face in Castiel's throat. He sucks hard at Castiel's adam's apple, and just as Castiel is starting to melt in his grip he pulls back and looks at Dean.

“Wanna dance, Dean?”

Dean shakes his head. “No,” he says, hoarse. “I wanna watch.”

“Oh, fuck yeah.” Sam starts to back away like he's planning on moving deeper into the dance floor, but then he just reaches down and gets two handfuls of Castiel's ass, hauls the former angel up against him.

Castiel is awkward at first, unused to moving his hips in such a manner, but as Dean watches he slowly learns to loosen, and to grind. He lets Sam guide his movements, becomes so much willing clay in Sam's hands. Just _surrenders,_ and it makes Dean bite his lip and reach down to rub himself, fuck the people standing around them.

Though, he notices distantly, they're getting a different kind of attention here. Those who can see them mostly seem intrigued, or turned on. A few even stop to watch, openly gawking as Sam brazenly slides one hand down the back of Castiel's jeans, only getting in about half-way since they're not that loose. A few people are eying Dean as well, watching him palm himself through his jeans. The awareness of those eyes on him, watching him, sends tingles rushing over Dean's skin. He catches the gaze of a couple nearby and smirks. They grin back easily, the guy winking and the woman nodding her head towards Sam and Castiel, mouthing _“jealous.”_

Dean's smirk widens. She should be jealous. She has no idea how fucking lucky he is.

They move on not long after that, hopping from bar to bar because they can't find any more clubs. They drink just enough alcohol to stay comfortably buzzed, but never enough to really get drunk. Sam dances in half the places, sometimes because he likes the song that's playing, sometimes because he thinks it's funny to mortify the less accepting people that might be drinking there. Castiel tries singing along a few times, and once he drags Dean up onto a karaoke stage and they get halfway through “Welcome to the Jungle” before they both collapse laughing. He tries every food and drink he's given, without question, and Dean begins to understand that when Castiel said he wanted everything, he really meant it.

And Dean, well. Dean lets Cas drag him around, and grope him through his jeans. He sucks on Castiel's neck and licks Sam's jaw and tangles his hands in their hair, and he watches.

By the time they finally spill back into the motel room at 3:30 in the morning, Dean's more relaxed than he's ever felt in his entire life.

Well. Most of him is. One particular part of his body hasn't relaxed all night, and doesn't appear to have any plans to do so any time soon. Not when Sam and Castiel are pressed together in front of him, when Sam has a big hand down the back of Castiel's undone jeans.

Dean leans back against the door and pops the button on his fly. He wants them to kiss so badly he can taste it.

“Wanna get fucked, Cas?” Sam whispers, sweet and filthy all at once.

Castiel groans and buries his face in Sam's shoulder. Sam's hand is working rhythmically, and when Castiel gasps and burrows more deeply into Sam's embrace Dean realizes Sam's working his hole, maybe even has the tip of a finger in there. Dean's head slams back against the door as he rips open his fly and works his cock free of his boxers. Fuck, it's too hot in here, _they're_ too hot, he's going to burn up before they get to the good bit. He shoves off the door to throw off his coat and rip his t-shirt over his head, and then he's got a hand back around himself as he watches Sam work Castiel's jeans down his thighs.

“I want everything,” Castiel pants for the hundredth time that night. “Please, Sam.”

“Yeah.” Sam kisses Castiel's cheek, sweet and light, even as he turns them so Castiel's back is to Dean. He meets Dean's eyes over Castiel's shoulder and grins as he reaches down to grip one of Castiel's asscheeks in his huge hand, spreading it so Dean can see Sam's middle finger rubbing over Castiel's rim.

“We're gonna take care of you, shh,” Sam murmurs, pressing another kiss to Castiel's temple. He has to bend his head at an awkward angle to do it, since Castiel seems determined to hide in his shoulder, but a third kiss has Castiel lifting his head slightly, leaning into the reassurance.

“Come here, Dean,” Sam says, firm enough to be an order. It should piss Dean off, but all it does is send a bolt of arousal down his spine.

It takes some effort to let go of his cock, but Dean manages it. He kicks off his boots and socks and rids himself of the last of his clothes before he comes up behind Castiel. Sam watches him, lids heavy and gaze lust-blown and approving.

“What should we do to him first?” Sam asks, low and husky.

“Kiss him,” Dean says instantly, and Sam groans his agreement and fists a hand in Castiel's hair. “Yeah, _yeah_ Sam, go on, look how bad he wants it.”

Dean molds himself against Castiel's back, crushing Sam's hand between his cock and Castiel's ass and oh _fuck,_ Sam's _hand_ is touching his _cock._ Dean lets out a desperate groan and grinds into it even as he keeps his eyes locked on Castiel's face. His lips are parted, his pupils so blown that all traces of his usual blue are nearly swallowed up in black. He's breathing hard, and he lets out a needy whine when Sam inches closer, closer, lips hovering just above Castiel's, teasing.

“Fucking do it, Sam,” Dean snarls, and finally, finally Sam dips down that last little bit.

Dean's seen Sam kiss before. To be honest, he's watched a little too closely every time. He always seems so slow and gentle, and gets in so deep that Dean's pretty sure once he's in, there's no getting him out again. He's no different with Castiel. He lifts his free hand and cups Castiel's cheek, tips him where he needs him. Their lips make soft little snicking sounds as they shift and part and come back together. Dean goes still as he watches. He aches with the need to get a taste himself, but at the same time he could just stay here, pressed up against them both, watching.

It occurs to him that he's the only one naked and, well, what better way to use his time while they make out?

Grinning, Dean presses a kiss to Sam's and then Castiel's temple before he drops to his knees. Castiel's pants and boxers are caught around his thighs; Dean pulls them down to his ankles. He makes Cas lift one foot and works off a shoe and sock, then does the other side, and finally pulls off the offending clothing and throws it all over his shoulder. Castiel's shirt is still a problem, but Dean can take care of that later. For now, he shuffles around until he's behind Sam, and reaches down to unlace his boots. Sam lifts each foot when he's prompted so Dean can rid him of boots and socks, and he groans when Dean starts to undo his fly.

“Fuck,” Dean gasps. He buries his face in the small of his brother's back as he starts working Sam's jeans and boxers down his thighs. And then he slides lower, just can't help himself, has to sink his teeth into one firm cheek and revel in the startled squeak Sam releases into Castiel's mouth. He grins around his mouthful and taps Sam's calf until he lifts his leg so he can get his jeans off of him.

“Dean!” Sam twists his head around, gazing down at Dean still on his knees, tonguing over the teeth marks he left in Sam's skin. “Fuck, get up here.”

Dean surges willingly to his feet, and now he's the one pressed chest-to-chest with Castiel. He wraps his arms around Cas’s shoulders and he tips his head back, eyes glazed and lips parted, ready for him. Fuck, Dean's thought about this a thousand times, a million, and he can't believe it's actually happening.

_How_ did it happen?

Dean starts, shakes the thought from his head. He has better things to think about.

Dean's not as gentle as Sam when he kisses, and he doesn't dive in right away. He nips at Castiel's lower lip, tongues away the sting before he flicks inside, touches the tip of Castiel's tongue with his own and retreats. Castiel groans and tries to press in closer. Dean lets him, molds their mouths together but keeps teasing until Castiel surges forward and in, invading Dean's mouth clumsily but with such enthusiasm that it doesn't occur to Dean to care.

“Fuck, yeah.” In an echo of Dean's earlier actions, Sam presses a kiss to Dean's temple, and then Dean has nothing but a mouthful of air as Sam hauls Castiel back by the hair. He lets out a sharp cry and arches into it, and Dean bites his lip and files that away for later.

“Come on, Dean,” Sam says. “Gotta get him out of his shirt.”

Dean glances over and sees that Sam's rid himself of his own shirts. He grins and nods, and Sam gets a hold of the hem of Castiel's shirt and yanks it over his head. At the last second Castiel gets with the program and lifts his arms to make it easier.

“You two,” Castiel gasps suddenly.

“Hm?” Sam reaches up and gets a hand back in Castiel's hair, tugging again and grinning when the angel moans.

“You—oh yes, Sam, _harder._ ”

“Fuck.” Sam yanks, forcing Castiel's head back, and the shout that Castiel releases shoots straight down Dean's spine. “That's hot.”

“Yeah it is,” Dean agrees breathlessly. “Do it again.”

Sam does, just a quick jerk, and Castiel's knees give out. Dean catches him around the waist with both arms and holds him up until Sam lets go of his hair and he's able to straighten.

“Got a bit of a masochistic streak there, Cas?” Sam asks with a grin.

Dean sees one of Sam's hands sliding down Castiel's back. He's expecting it, but it still makes him jump when he hears the crack of Sam's palm connecting with Castiel's ass. Castiel makes a strangled sound and arches back, his hips grinding forward and into Dean's, erections sliding up against each other. Dean hums and gets his hands on Castiel's waist, urges him to work his hips while Sam draws his hand back and spanks him again.

“I— _oh!_ I don't understand,” Castiel pants. “It hurts, but it feels good. But I-I like the things that just feel good, too.”

“Don't worry, Cas,” Dean says. “We can give you both.”

Dean grinds into Castiel to demonstrate and Castiel moans, lets his head fall back onto Sam's shoulder. Sam's slotted himself in behind Cas, Dean realizes—he feels Sam's hands slide onto his hips and they're all connected now, rocking in sync with each other and it feels so fucking good.

“You were trying to say something, Cas,” Sam murmurs in his ear. “You said 'you two.'”

“Yes.” Castiel bucks, forward into Dean and back into Sam. “You need to...” Castiel snarls, frustrated—he reaches up to get a hand in Dean’s hair, jerks him forward.

“ _Kiss,_ ” Castiel snarls, and tips his head to the side to make room.

Dean hesitates. Something hot sears through him, sharp like a warning, but it melts into the mess of his arousal when Sam's eyes blow wide and he leans forward.

Dean doesn't bother trying to control this kiss, not with Sam. He lets Sam take him apart his way, slow and deep, lets himself give in to it. He leans against Cas and into Sam and lets Sam crawl down inside where he's always lived, anyway. Where Cas lives now, too, in the same space carved out for Sam and fuck, he doesn't know how to express how much he loves them both.

They break apart, a thin trail of saliva connecting them until Castiel dives in, twists his head around so Sam can kiss him again. Then back to Dean, and he's growing more confident now, more frantic. They trade off like that until they're all too close, until they just lean their heads together and rock, breathing hard, gripping each other anywhere they can reach.

Castiel comes first, with one of Sam's hands wound in his hair and Dean's forehead against his. The warm, wet feel of Cas's come against his skin sets Dean off, and Sam follows soon after with a bitten off whine, hips stuttering against Castiel's ass until he finally sags against him, head dropping down into his bare shoulder.

After a few moments filled with nothing but the rush of hard breathing, Dean murmurs, “Bed?”

He gets two grunts of agreement, and they all shuffle sideways until they can fall onto one of the mattresses. It's a tight fit, but they all manage to slot together, legs tangled and arms slung all over the place.

“Next time, I'm fucking you both,” Sam promises.

Dean snorts. “Really, think you got the stamina for that?”

“I'll show you stamina.” Sam swats Dean blindly, catching Castiel in the temple, who grumbles and kicks Sam in the shin, and the three of them huff out tired, breathless laughs.

“Love you guys,” Sam mumbles sleepily into Castiel's hair. Castiel murmurs something that sounds vaguely like he's returning the sentiment. Dean grins where he's got his nose buried in Castiel's throat, and whispers, “Me too.”

~

5 hours ago

~

They don't wake up until almost 1pm. Dean stumbles into consciousness first, and for half a second he feels a spike of panic driven right through his chest. He sits bolt upright, staring down at Castiel curled on his side, face cupped in his hand; at Sam sprawled on his back with one hand on Castiel's hip. Dean's own hand is on Sam's thigh, his leg tangled through Castiel's. This isn't... what...

Sam's eyes blink open and he smiles up at Dean, sleepy and sweet, and Dean forgets why he's panicking.

“Man, I'm starving,” Dean says. “I could go for pancakes. Think that diner does all-day breakfast?”

“Let's find out,” Sam answers, and rolls onto his side to shake Castiel awake.

It turns out the diner _does_ have breakfast all day. Dean decides right then and there that it is officially the best diner in the country.

“Long night?” Hazel asks as she pours them all coffee. Dean's kind of glad it's her again; she really is nice.

“Good night,” Dean and Sam say at the same time, and Castiel nods his agreement.

“Do you have cream?” Castiel asks.

“'Course!” Hazel sets the pot down in the center of the table. “You guys keep that, I've got two more behind the counter. You all want cream?”

Sam nods, Dean shakes his head. Hazel brings Sam and Cas each their own little pitcher. Dean orders pancakes and sausage and, much to his surprise, so do Castiel and Sam. Cas isn't such a surprise, even if he does usually get eggs and hashbrowns, but Sam doesn't even really like pancakes.

“Yeah, I lied when I said that,” Sam says easily when Dean asks him. “There's just so much sugar in the syrup, you know?”

“And you've, what, decided you don't care today?” Dean presses. That warning is niggling at the back of his mind again, and this time it won't quit. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Castiel frowning down into his coffee.

Sam pauses. Dean watches the same doubt catch in Sam's gaze and hold. “I... I don't know? Shit, Dean, what's—”

He cuts himself off when Hazel comes back with their food. She sets the syrup down near the coffee pot along with a little pot of butter, and leaves them to it.

“Might as well not waste perfectly good food,” Dean says with a forced lightness, and digs in. After a moment's hesitation, so does Sam.

Breakfast, it turns out, is just as fantastic as the lunch menu. Dean packs in every bite even when it leaves him feeling over-stuffed, and by the time the last bite of pancake and sausage disappears, he can't remember what it was he was concerned about. He grins at Sam over the table and knocks their feet together, and Sam laughs and flicks syrup off his fork at Dean's face. Castiel thinks this is a great idea and launches some of his own at Sam. It devolves into a lot of playful yelling and light punching and Castiel licking syrup off both of their cheeks until Hazel comes over and chokes out around her laughter that they really need to calm down. At least until they leave the cafe.

Dean leaves an even bigger tip this time, and when they leave the diner it occurs to him that he can't remember why they're in town.

“Hey, Sam? Why did we come here again?”

Sam climbs into the passenger side. Dean gets behind the wheel, and after a moment Castiel slides his upper body over the bench seat, spreading his arms so that he has a hand on each brother.

“We needed a vacation,” Sam says. There's a slight lilt at the end, like he's asking rather than stating, but it's good enough for Dean.

“Yeah. A vacation. Hey, did we miss any bars last night?”

“There was one directly across from the last place we visited,” Castiel says, and that's how they find themselves across town, stealing bottles from behind the counter while the bartender isn't looking and making out with each other when _everyone_ is looking.

Dean doesn't know who started the fight this time. He thinks it was Sam because some asshole came up behind them and threatened to knife them if they didn't leave; now there are fists flying and Castiel yelling Dean's name, and Dean has a broken bottle in his hand. Sam is a few feet away, grinning fiercely, hair wild and eyes even wilder. There's blood coating his knuckles, and Dean thinks with a distant, sick sort of feeling that one of the guys on the floor isn't okay.

_Something is wrong._

“Sam!” Dean yells. The glass in his hand slips, and Dean looks down. There's blood on the glass, on the jagged edges. It's dripping onto his fist. He looks around wildly and finds a guy on the floor nearby, clutching his bicep to stem the flow of blood. There's a bruise forming under his right eye, and his lip is split and bleeding.

Dean drops the bottle. He sucks in a breath, and when the glass breaks he can think, some weird haze drifting right off his mind and away and oh god, _what the hell happened?_

Dean thinks frantically, searching for anything that might have broken the spell, or curse, or whatever the fuck it was that made him—but no, he can't think about it, not yet, not until he gets them the hell out of here.

He's not bleeding, or really injured at all, so it wasn't a shock that broke the spell. What had they been drinking? Dean glances down at the bottle, then dives down and sorts through pieces, searching for a label. Was it different from what they drank last night? They had whiskey, and tequila, and he thinks rum a couple of times. This, this is...

Dean fits a couple of pieces together.

“It wasn't what you drank. Well, not exactly.”

Dean whips around. Crouching beside him is a stern-faced older woman, with one hand around a gun and another around a new bottle of whiskey. “You the Winchesters?” she asks, and when Dean nods she says, “Huh. Not all you're cracked up to be, are you?”

“Hunter?” Dean says, instead of barking at her. He can do that later, when they're all _safe._

“Hunter,” she replies sharply. “Been here a while, still don't know what the fuck we're facing, but I found some weird spell that breaks the hex or curse or whatever the hell it is. Doesn't seem to prevent it, though.”

“How much have you got?”

“Few more bottles.” She glares at him, gesturing towards the one he'd broken. “Good thing, too, since you went and just stole one of them.”

“I was hexed! Look, I need some of that for—”

“Gotta get 'em out of the fight, first,” she interrupts, and that's when Dean hears Castiel scream.

Without looking back, Dean explodes to his feet and through the crowd, shoving people aside and ducking flying fists. He sees Sam out of the corner of his eye, still holding his own and doing just fine, but Cas...

Cas he finds on the floor, eyes squeezed closed and body curled in on itself, a shaking hand around the hilt of a knife in his chest.

“Cas!” Dean dives down beside the fallen angel, pulling his shaking, bloody hand away from the knife. It's high, just under the collar bone, and it’s one of those little pocket knives—the likelihood of it having done much damage is low, but telling himself that doesn’t slow the frantic tap-dance his heart has decided to do. He slips the knife out and the wound is definitely bleeding, but it’s small and the flow is sluggish. He tears the sleeve off Castiel’s t-shirt and wads it up, pressing it in hard and instructing Cas to hold it there until they can get a real bandage.

There's a deep slash in Cas’s forearm, and there's something wrong with his left ankle. When Dean tries to haul him to his feet Castiel cries out—Dean swears loudly and slides an arm under Castiel's shoulders and knees.

“I'm too old for this shit,” Dean mutters, but he manages to stagger to his feet bearing Castiel's weight.

“Take him outside!” the other hunter calls. “I'll bring the cure out in a minute. Big guy's your brother, right?”

“That's him!” Dean yells back. People are breaking away from the fight now, and most of them step back to let him pass. Distantly, he hears someone shout that they'll call 911.

Once he's outside, Dean gets a bit of distance between them and the door and sets Castiel down by the Impala as carefully as he can.

“I'm gonna check your ankle,” Dean warns him, sliding down into a crouch by Castiel's feet. His foot is sitting at an odd angle, and when Dean carefully eases up his jeans he sees an ugly bruise, but no protruding bone. Still, Dean's pretty sure it’s broken. The question is whether it was shattered, or a clean break.

“Cas, I gotta poke at your ankle and it's gonna hurt like hell. Brace yourself.”

Castiel does as he's told, and presses his hands against the Impala. The sound he lets out when Dean presses in to find the bone is inhuman—Dean winces, but now he knows the break is clean and that, at least, is a relief.

“Dean!”

Dean twists around and sees Sam running from the bar. There's a cut on his temple, blood running down the side of his face, but otherwise he seems fine. The other hunter comes out behind him, gripping the bottle tightly in one hand.

“Is he—?” Sam staggers to a halt beside them, one hand coming up like he’s going to check for injuries before he yanks it back, curling it into a fist at his side.

“His ankle's broken but it's a clean break,” Dean says flatly. “He got stabbed but it’s not too deep, just need some antiseptic and a bandage. Grab the first aid kit.”

While Sam gets the kit out of the trunk, the other hunter comes over and offers the bottle to Castiel. He coughs as the liquid goes down, and Dean sees it the moment awareness floods into Castiel's gaze.

“We'll talk later,” Dean says tightly. By which he means they will never speak of this again. Ever. It never happened.

“I'm Erin, by the way,” the other hunter says. “Look, I appreciate you guys coming in here trying to help, but you should probably just get out of here. The spell could get you guys again at any time, and I only have so much of this.” She lifts the bottle and wriggles it.

“Not yet, I know who’s doing the spell. We gotta gank that bitch before we go anywhere.”

Erin sighs. “You think it's Hazel.”

Dean blinks. “Well... yeah.”

“Checked her out. She's just an old hippie chick, very sweet, very weird, but not the cause of this spell.”

“Then the food, it's gotta be the food. I felt fine until I ate there.”

Erin shook her head. “Checked that out too. The diner seems to be ground zero, I'll give you that, but it's not the food or Hazel.”

Dean opens his mouth to protest, and that's when he hears the sirens.

“Shit!” Dean surges to his feet. Sam hasn't come back, and when Dean spins to find him he sees Sam in the passenger seat, staring vacantly out the window. The trunk is still open but there’s no sign of the first aid kit. “Fuck! Can you deal with the cops?”

“Yeah, go.” Erin waves a dismissive hand. “You need help getting him in the car?”

“No, I got it.” Dean crowds in and slides his arms around Castiel, taking most of his weight, but when he's standing by the back door he pauses. “Um. Maybe you could get the door?”

Erin rolls her eyes and opens it for him. “Get outta here fast. If the spell gets you a second time, it ain’t nearly as pretty as the first go around.”

Dean nods once. He slides Castiel into the back seat, reminds him to keep the cloth against the knife-wound; it’ll have to do until he can get to the kit. He slams the trunk closed and dives for the driver’s seat, and doesn't tell Erin that they're definitely coming back because like hell it isn't Hazel. Or at least that diner, something about that diner is wrong and Dean's going to find it.

Just not until he's sure Sam and Cas are safe.

~

NOW

~

The town is at least fifty miles behind them, but Dean keeps his foot down, navigating the dark roads with a practiced ease even at the high speeds. He knows intellectually that Castiel is fine, just needs some disinfecting and bandaging, and to get a cast for his ankle. That Sam just has some bruising and shallow cuts. It doesn’t stop his mind from spitting out scenario after scenario of every way things could have gone worse.

What’s really making him anxious is Sam’s behavior. His eyes are glazed, his body slumped like he’s not there to keep it properly upright. He’s slowly sinking into the passenger door, and when Dean next glances over it’s to see that he’s visibly trembling.

Fuck, Cas is one thing. It was stupid and he's probably lost the best friend he's ever had, but at least he isn't _related to him._ Castiel isn't his _brother._

When Dean finally pulls into the bunker garage, he kills the engine and has to just sit there for a second, staring at his little brother breaking down just feet away. He needs to get Cas inside and preferably into one of the rooms downstairs… actually, fuck, he probably just needs to take Cas to the hospital.

Briefly, Dean closes his eyes. His hands shake, so he grips the wheel harder to make them stop. Not yet. He can't break down quite yet.

“I'll be right back,” Dean grits out. “I’m gonna go get Kevin, okay?”

Castiel offers a tired, “Okay.” Sam says nothing.

It occurs to Dean only after he's halfway upstairs that he could just call Kevin, but by then there's no point. He pounds on the door, yelling Kevin’s name, until he yanks it open.

“Seriously, what the… dude, you okay?”

As if _okay_ is a thing any of them ever are. “Cas's ankle is broken and Sam’s a bit messed up, gonna need help getting him to the hospital.”

Kevin's eyes widen. “I have something for that!” he says excitedly, scrambling by Dean and down the stairs.

“What... hey!” Dean runs after him and finds him digging through a box by one of the chairs in the library.

“Sam and I found some good magic a few months ago, we've been cataloging it. There's a healing spell here somewhere...” Kevin gets a hold of something and holds it triumphantly over his head. “Here! It won't fix him completely, but it will fix the broken bone. He'll still be sore and bruised, though, so we should still keep him off the ankle for a while.”

“Great, great, let's _go._ ”

By the time they reach the car, Castiel has managed to keep his bad leg up on the seat and lean forward enough to get an arm around Sam's shoulders. It's awkward and clearly pulling at the knife wound, but Sam seems just a little bit calmer so Dean can't find it in him to yell at either of them.

“Kevin's got something for your ankle, Cas,” Dean says. Castiel turns to look at him and nods, and then he does something that throws Dean off completely—he smiles.

“Cas?”

“It's all right, Dean,” Castiel murmurs.

It's not. Nothing about this is okay, but Dean gives him a tight, grateful smile anyway, for trying.

The spell turns out to be a tiny, thin blue crystal, and all Kevin has to do is hold it over Castiel and chant a few weird words. It flashes brightly—the same flash echos in both the knife wound and Castiel's ankle. Dean grimaces when Castiel hisses through clenched teeth, but soon he’s melting into the seat and Dean sighs in relief.

“He's okay?”

Kevin nods. “Yeah, worst of it's gone. Why didn't you go to a hospital?”

Dean shakes his head. “Whatever spell is in that town got us. We were warned it might come back if we didn't get the hell outta dodge, and there weren't any hospitals between the towns. Besides, he wasn't dying, just...”

Dean shakes his head again, harder. He just wanted them out of there. He couldn't think past that. He couldn't think at all, or he'd be useless to them.

“Yeah, okay,” Kevin agrees easily. He reaches in and holds his hands out for Castiel, but he seems unwilling to release Sam.

“Cas, I got him,” Dean says. He comes around the car and opens the passenger side. Sam flinches away when Dean tries to touch his shoulder, but otherwise doesn’t react.

“Sam.” Dean closes his eyes. “Sam, none of this is your fault, you got that?”

He reaches out again, trying to get a grip on his brother's arm. Sam moves abruptly, with all the grace that big body shouldn’t have, especially not when he’s clearly so out of it. He slides past Dean and heads straight for the doorway without looking back.

“Dean.”

Dean shakes his head. He's starting to shake himself, mimicking Sam and no, he can't, _he can't,_ not yet.

“Dean!”

Dean looks up. Castiel is out of the car, leaning against Kevin for support and holding his aching ankle off the ground.

“He's right to react that way,” Dean hisses. “I--”

“We didn't do anything wrong. You didn't do anything wrong.”

Castiel's eyes are a little glazed with pain, and he smiles at Dean in a woozy, tired sort of way. Dean offers him a tight smile of his own. He's not right, and he'll see that in the morning, when he's slept off the worst of the pain and the memories flood back into him.

“Can you set him up downstairs?” Dean glances towards Kevin when he says it, and the kid just nods and starts hauling Castiel along. He's strong, for being so small.

As soon as he’s alone Dean slumps against the Impala, slams his palms against smooth metal a few times to keep from… well, he doesn’t know what. Something worse.

It’s his job to take care of Sammy, always has been, and somewhere along the way he made it his job to take care of Cas, too. He’s fine with that, it even makes him happy, or as close to happy as he’s capable of getting, and now he’s… he’s gone and...

A hollow thump reverberates through the garage as Dean slams his head back against the car. The dull pain washes down his spine and brings him a little bit of clarity, just enough for him to scramble to his feet and rip open the car door.

They're inside, they're safe. Kevin will take care of them.

~

It's a little after 9pm when Dean pulls into the diner parking lot. It's still open, but just a few minutes of watching tell him Hazel is no longer on shift. That's fine. He can wait. It has to be her, can't just be the food, someone's putting something in it. Erin's wrong. She has to be, or Dean doesn't know how the fuck he's going to end this.

Sustained panic is, it turns out, exhausting, and Dean ends up dozing against the window until the squeal of the passenger side door jerks him awake. He blinks dazedly as Erin slides into the seat and slams the door shut, crossing her arms and turning to look at him with something between exasperation and resignation.

“It's you,” Dean blurts.

Erin sighs. “Yup.”

“But.” Dean glances at the diner. It's closed now, but Dean doesn't bother checking the time. “The food?”

“It's in the food,” Erin confirms tiredly. “But Hazel didn't put it there. She really is just a weird, sweet old hippie chick.”

Dean blinks. He thinks about reaching for his gun and realizes he doesn't have it, it's in the trunk in his duffel bag because he was too fucking out of it to think to arm himself properly. She looks human, maybe he can strangle her.

“The spell wasn't going to get us again if we didn't leave town, was it?” Dean tilts his head towards the diner. “We'd have to eat there again.”

Erin nods. “I cured you for a reason. Same reason I cured so many other people in this town. You actually have something to live for.”

“So, you get to pick who lives?” There's a knife in the glove compartment, but Dean doubts he could get to it in time. Erin sees his eyes dart to it anyway, and shakes her head.

“Don't bother,” she says. “You can't move anyway.”

Dean frowns. He tries to lunge forward and finds his body is completely relaxed, no matter how many signals he fires at it.

“Man, I hate witches,” Dean mutters, glaring at her for emphasis.

Erin snorts. “Yeah, not a witch. But I can understand why you’d go there.”

“Oh yeah? Then what are you?”

She looks right at him and says bitterly, “A mutation.”

When Dean stares at her blankly, Erin sighs and holds up her hands in a helpless gesture. “You ever run into a siren?” When Dean gives a single nod, she continues. “Okay, so you know they appear as a person's greatest desire, and the effect is in their spit. Well, I was born looking like a plain old human, and _my_ spit just breaks down people's inhibitions so that they _act out_ their greatest desires. It's actually harmless for the most part, if you only have one dose. It's only if you keep going back to it that it becomes deadly.”

“You tryin' to tell me you're not that bad? I'm not buying it.”

Erin glares at him. “I don't care what you think. I'm only explaining it so you can tell the other two idiots so maybe they'll feel better. I could see how freaked out your brother was. Dunno exactly what you guys did, but now you can tell him the desire was already there. Or, if you want to lie, you can say I made him do it, though I'd be pissed if you threw away my gift like that.”

“ _Gift?_ ” Dean snarls. “That was not a gift. I... we could have killed someone.”

He doesn't say _I molested my brother_ because then it'll be real.

“You wouldn't have. None of you wanted to kill anyone that first night, or you would have. The second time, well...” Erin breaks off with a surprising chuckle. “Let's just say I was having some fun of my own the night before, and I failed to get the cure into your breakfast. So, I am sorry one of your guys was hurt.”

Dean flinches at Castiel being described as “his guy.”

“Does everyone get infected here?” Dean's pissed that he can't move, that his body is still as relaxed as though he's just woken up from an awesome night, but he might as well pry as much info as he can out of her. Maybe they can use it later.

“Yup. But I cure most of them, and most of them are harmless. And look, I haven't actually been here that long, only about a year, and I didn't actually start infecting people until a couple weeks ago. I just got sick of watching people not take what they wanted.” She casts a pointed glance at him that Dean just as pointedly ignores. “I made a damn cure first, so why can't you just leave it alone?”

“People are dead,” Dean says.

Erin just shrugs. “People die all the time. You can't stop all of it. A lot more people in this town are happy now because of what I did.”

It's so true that it cuts in deep, but that doesn't mean Dean can just let it go. “Why'd you even start? Sounds like you managed not to infect people before.”

Erin twists in her seat so she's facing Dean. Her eyes are brown, Dean notes with a kind of weird detachment. Brown and sad, and sort of soft. It's completely at odds with the hardened tone of the rest of her body.

“I know you're just trying to collect information so you can kill me later,” Erin says. “But I'm gonna be honest with you. First of all, the spell I'm using on you right now was a gift from my parents before they threw me out, and it's harmless. It just keeps people from hurting me. When I leave you'll be fine. Second of all, I've never been able to tell anyone this shit. So I'm going to keep you here for a bit, and tell you what you want to know, and then you're going to leave and not come back.”

Dean snorts. “What makes you think you can stop me?”

Erin shrugs. “I won't be here. You can try to track me down if you absolutely must, but good fucking luck with that.”

“Fine.” They've achieved more difficult things, why not tracking down a mutant siren? Dean flinches when he thinks “we.” Like he can go back to the bunker at this point. “So why'd you start?”

“Because someone I loved died,” Erin says simply. “Because I didn't have the guts to take what I wanted. Next?”

“How'd you know who we were?”

“You're the Winchesters,” she says, like that explains everything. Hell, at this point, the way they've gotten around, maybe it does.

“Why the diner?”

“It was at the opposite end of town from my bar,” Erin answers. “And I like Hazel. She's sweet and the most non-judgemental person I've ever met. I figured it would be easy enough to lead people away from her if I had to.”

“How'd you make the cure?”

“There's a substance in my blood that keeps me from getting infected by my own ability. I synthesized it.”

There's one more question he wants to ask, but he's terrified. He spits it out anyway.

“Why'd you cure us?”

Erin cocks her head, considering him a moment before she says slowly, “I let you guys get infected when you came 'cause I could tell right off you were hunters. I figured it was an easy way to get rid of you. But then the worst thing you guys seemed to want to do was have some fun. Your brother was a bit violent, but no one was seriously injured that first night. I watched you guys right up until you went back to the motel. You just...” she sighed, shook her head. “You're all so stupidly in love with each other. I couldn't kill you when all you guys wanted was for each other to feel good and have fun.”

“You make it sound like it's okay,” Dean hisses. “Sam's my brother.”

Erin shrugs. “Does it really matter?”

Of course it _matters._ Dean starts to open his mouth to say so but just as quickly chokes it down.

Both of them fall silent for a moment. Erin straightens out in her seat and opens the door. “We done?”

Dean wishes he could at least clench his fist, but since he can't he settles for glaring at her. “Can I kill you like I can a normal siren?”

Erin laughs. “Been fun talking to you, Dean. As soon as I'm gone the spell will release and you can go home. Don't worry, no one else in this town will get infected.”

She climbs out and slams the door closed. Dean watches her walk to a motorcycle parked a few spaces away. She puts on a black helmet and starts it up, but it isn't until she's disappeared down the main road that Dean can finally move.

Not that he does. He shifts enough to straighten up in his seat, and keeps staring out the window at the darkened diner. He hopes Sam is still too out of it to chase him. Cas, he doesn't have to worry about. Maybe he'll call them later, let them know he's okay.

Dean digs into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He takes out the battery and tosses both out the window. Can't have Sam using it to track him. Then he starts up the Impala and backs her out, and heads in the same direction the motorcycle did; away from the bunker.

They'll be fine. Better without him after what he's done.

Maybe he'll call them.

~

Two Weeks Later

~

The deep thrum of heavy rock music spills out into a moonless night when a back door crashes open. Laughter and slurred conversation follows a splash of dim yellow light into the alley. Dean stumbles out, a half-empty bottle of Jack in one hand. There's a dumpster nearby and Dean leaves heavily against it. He's had so much to drink he can barely remember his own name, much less the name of the floppy haired, hazel-eyed guy who's been following him around like a love-struck puppy all night.

“Hey, you okay?”

Oh look, he's still here.

“G'way,” Dean mutters. He heaves the bottle upwards, misses his mouth a few times before he finally gets his lips wrapped around the opening. “Why y'followin' me?”

Floppy-hair comes to stand in front of him, peering up at Dean with narrow, concerned eyes. He's shorter, but he still kinda looks like Sam did before he left for Stanford. Fresh and ready to take on the world, and probably a little too young to be going after someone Dean's age. Then again, maybe he likes older guys.

“At first? 'Cause you're hot,” floppy-hair says with a quick grin. “But now I'm kinda concerned about you. I have this stupid angst radar or something, I swear, I'm always attracted to people with ten pounds of issues.”

Dean snorts. “Try a'hundred.”

“I don't think alcohol poisoning is the answer.”

Fuck, he even sounds like Sammy, all logical and shit. All he needs is someone with blue eyes and messy dark hair to show up and he's got the pair.

“G'way,” Dean mutters again.

Floppy-hair hair sighs. “Can I at least get you somewhere? I'm gonna feel like shit if I leave you out here like this.”

The motel is only three blocks away, but Dean can't bear the thought of trying to walk that far. So he nods once and lets the guy take the bottle from his hand.

“'M down there,” Dean mumbles, waving a hand in the general direction of the motel.

“Okay.” Floppy-hair gets one of Dean's arms around his shoulders and lets Dean slump against him. He stumbles, but he manages to keep them upright. “Which room?”

“Uh...”

The guy laughs. “Your key in your pocket?”

Dean nods, loose and sloppy. Floppy-hair digs into his jeans pocket and pulls out the key card, still tucked in its little paper pocket with the number 106 written on it.

“Okay, come on,” Floppy-hair coaxes, and Dean starts dragging his feet, leaning heavily on the support.

Dean kind of blacks out after that. When he wakes up, he's tucked into bed. There are five empty water bottles on the floor and another bottle on the bedside table, along with two Advil, his keys, and his wallet, and when Dean checks it he finds all the cards and money still inside.

Great. The guy was genuinely _nice._ Dean barely remembers him after his tenth shot, but he has flashes of concerned eyes and a gentle, quiet voice encouraging him to _drink, it'll help with the hangover._

It did, too. Dean has an awful headache, and his stomach feels like there might be live insects inside it, but otherwise he's mostly okay. He takes the Advil and drains the bottle, and wonders how he can be such a complete asshole.

A shower and a couple of bacon and egg biscuits from McDonald's makes him feel better. He eats them in the car after checking out, taking the time to go over information he’d collected before hitting the bar.

Tracking Erin has been a bitch. With nothing but a potentially fake first name and her looks to go on, Dean has had to resort to asking around every town he comes across. He's chased possible leads up through North Dakota and west all the way into Washington. Now he's somewhere in Oregon, and only a handful of people had informed him that yeah, they'd seen an old Harley and a tough-looking woman pass through, heading south. It's not much, but at least it's a new direction for him to follow, and he's still hundreds of miles from the bunker.

He never did call them.

Dean crumples the empty fast food bag and tosses it to the floor.

He's not sure what the hell he's hoping to accomplish. Erin's been at least three or four towns ahead of him since the start, if he's even following the right person at this point. He could have chased a hundred different Harleys all in the wrong direction. Maybe she's in Maine now, kicking back in a new bar with a new town to infect. He just doesn't know what else to do but follow the trail, and hope he catches up at some point. Another hunt will come along at some point, he supposes. So long as it keeps him far away from Kansas, it'll be okay.

Dean glances at the empty passenger seat where Sammy should be sitting, grumpy and annoyed because Dean's got the music too loud. At the back seat, devoid of curious former angels trying to see everything at once, or singing along to Dean's music, rough and off-key.

They're better off without him, he reminds himself. He just hopes they stuck together. He doesn't want them to be alone.

He passes the border into California and keeps driving until well after dark. The motel he stops at for the night is done up in glaring reds and greens, like some demented form of Christmas decoration. He catches himself looking for little elves with fangs hiding in the corners.

He's going to have to stop soon and hustle up some more money. He's down to seventy dollars, enough for one more night in this place and a cheap breakfast. Dean sighs and falls back on the bed, going over any bars he saw on the way into town, mentally scoping out which would work best. Doing anything to not think about them.

Nights are the worst, when he doesn't have the energy to drive through til morning. Nights are when he's too tired to keep up his defenses and the memories spill in; Castiel's wide, excited eyes, Sam's fierce grin. The way Sam swallowed hard when Dean sucked at his throat, the shameless way Castiel had groped at them both. Their mouths against his, Castiel almost submissive where Sam was dominating, taking what he wanted and making Dean—

Fuck. Dean slides his hands over his face, grinds his palms into his eyes. His fucking traitorous cock has perked up in interest, but Dean viciously ignores it. Doesn't even unbutton his jeans to allow himself any relief, just rolls onto his side and buries his face in the pillow, trying to drown himself in cotton and darkness.

When he wakes up, he's handcuffed to the headboard.

“What the fuck?” Dean jerks, but the wood is sturdy and doesn't budge against the pressure. The cuffs, he realizes, are lined in some kind of soft, fake fur, so it doesn't even really hurt when he jerks against them.

Right, this just went from freaky to terrifying.

“I was going to use regular handcuffs, but Cas convinced me to take pity on you.”

Dean freezes. For a moment he stares fixedly at the ceiling, refusing to believe. There's no way. He ditched his phone, hasn't used any of his credit cards, and the Impala is clean.

Dean cranes his head up, and shit. Sam's standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed. He looks calm, for the most part, but the storm brewing in his gaze tells Dean he passed furious about three exits ago.

“Sam.” Dean whips his head to the side and there's Cas, sitting on the other bed because Dean can't shake the habit of “two queens.” His ankle is wrapped tight and his foot is bare, but the swelling is gone and some part of Dean relaxes a little at that.

“Gentle,” Castiel says quietly.

Sam heaves a sigh and nods. “Right. Okay. Dean—”

 

“Get the fuck out,” Dean hisses. He yanks hard on the cuffs. “Goddamnit, Sam, I know what I did and there is no way you could forgive me, or trust me again. Just get the fuck out.”

“Told you,” Castiel says smugly. Sam tosses him a glare, Dean frowns.

“What?”

“You're an idiot,” Sam says with a heavy sigh. He sinks down at the foot of the bed and puts a hand on Dean's ankle, stroking idly like he did in the diner. Dean tries to kick him but Sam holds him down easily. “Are you going to hold still and listen to me or not?”

“Not,” Dean growls. He tries to kick again with his other foot. Sam slides to the side and pins both his legs down.

“Fine,” Sam snaps.

He hauls his massive body up on the bed, crawls on all fours over Dean, and kisses him.

Too stunned to react, Dean just lays there limply and takes it. Sam doesn't push, just brushes his lips over Dean's softly a few times, presses in once and then backs off. His hair is hanging down into his face and his eyes are wide, just a bit wild.

“I told you not to touch me,” Sam says, like it happened a few minutes ago and not in a garage two weeks and hundreds of miles away. “Because I thought that _I_ did something wrong. I thought _I_ had hurt _you._ I've since been thoroughly chastised by that smug bastard of an angel over there.”

Dean just stares at him. He can't even begin to untangle his thoughts, and Sam doesn’t give him a chance to.

“We've been trying to figure out the spell while we looked for you, and we think it just took away our inhibitions. So, none of us did anything we didn't want to do.”

“I know,” Dean manages to croak out. “It was Erin, that hunter that helped us. Well, she wasn't a hunter. She was some kind of siren mutant, she was infecting people through the food at the diner.”

Sam nods. “Yeah, we figured it was the diner. We thought it was Hazel, but she seemed pretty shocked when we confronted her.”

“I think traumatized might be a better word for it,” Castiel comments mildly.

“Just because some buried part of us wanted to do it doesn't mean we should have.” Dean tries to look away, at anything but his brother, but Sam grabs Dean's chin and wrenches his head back around, forces him to meet Sam's eyes.

“That's why you fought so hard when I kissed you just now?” Sam says, challenging. “Dean, I've wanted you for years. It's one of the reasons I left for Stanford. I mean yeah, Dad was a huge part of it, but dude, I grew up thinking I was going to _marry you,_ okay? That's how gone I've always been.”

“Doesn't make it okay,” Dean says stubbornly.

Sam shoves Dean's head down into the pillow, like he's pissed and wants to punch him, but instead he climbs off Dean and tosses an exasperated look at Castiel. “Your turn.”

Cas nods. He stands up carefully, limping only a little bit as he crosses to Dean's bed and sinks down to sit by his shoulder. He reaches out to cup Dean's face, tilting the hunter's head towards him and god, Dean wishes they'd stop touching him. It's making his resolve want to curl up and cry in a corner.

“You gonna kiss me, too?” Dean tries to say it lightly, like a joke, but it comes out tight and hard and fuck, he really hates himself right now.

“If you would like me to,” Castiel says with a small smile. “I would very much like to. You and Sam kiss so differently, it's fascinating.”

Castiel frowns suddenly, thoughtful. He looks over to where Sam is leaning against the wall, watching them. “Perhaps that would help?”

Sam arches an eyebrow. “Couldn't hurt.”

Dean doesn't even have time to sputter out a word before Sam gets his knees on the side of the bed, braces his hands against Castiel's shoulders, and kisses him. _Right there,_ right over his head and fuck, Dean can't deny it's hot no matter how much he tries. It's not just hot, it's _good,_ the two people he loves most right there with him and—

“Fuck,” Dean curses quietly, and squeezes his eyes shut.

That works exactly not at all because the next thing he knows, there are lips on his. Soft and gentle, almost no pressure, and then they switch and Dean can tell this is Sam by the way he just forces his way in, fuck all the resistance Dean's trying to put up. Then Cas again, a little more insistent this time, wriggling his way in until he can brush his tongue against Dean's.

Then they both sit back. Dean gasps, fingers clenching into fists. He can't deny the growing bulge in his jeans, or how breathless he is.

“There's nothing wrong with you loving Sam in this way, Dean,” Castiel says. “If you were a part of society I suppose it might be a problem, but you're not. Sam is one of the few people you can be completely yourself around, who knows everything about hunting and what you go through on a regular basis. And as for me, well, Sam seems to think that you might be harboring some strange ideas about forcing yourself on me as well.”

“You saying you want me too?” Dean mutters.

“Of course,” Castiel says like Dean's an idiot.

This isn't supposed to be okay. Or make sense. Or be _okay,_ what the hell is Dean supposed to do with this? “And... Sam?” Dean asks hesitantly, gesturing with one cuffed hand between the two of them since they seem to think he still can't be trusted not to bolt. They're probably right about that.

Castiel grins. He does that more often now that he's human, but it still startles Dean every time.

“I have actually found Sam fascinating for a long time,” Castiel confesses. “His struggle to turn the demon blood inside him into something good impressed me even when I was still under Heaven's control. I don't think I knew I was attracted to him before the spell forced me to see it, but I don't regret that it happened.”

“Me either,” Sam says, grinning back and reaching out to cup Castiel's face. He does it easily, and suddenly Dean's wondering how much they've done while he's been gone. “I might have known I was attracted to Cas before the spell, though.”

“So...” Dean can feel his eyes widening. He looks almost frantically back and forth between the two of them because he cannot wrap his mind around the idea that they're all _okay._ “So this...”

“Is good,” Sam says. “Yeah. I'm gonna let you go now, but I swear if you run again I will hog tie you and haul you back to the bunker like that.”

Dean just nods numbly. Sam gets a key out of his pocket and undoes the cuffs, tucks them into his back pocket. Both Sam and Cas back off enough for Dean to sit up. They watch him warily as Dean slides down to the end of the bed and stands.

For just a second, Dean considers bolting. But he looks at the two of them, Sam with those stupid puppy eyes that somehow still work after all these years, Castiel with a calm kind of faith that makes no sense because Dean's done nothing to earn it... and he can't.

So he smiles shakily instead, and says, “I want pancakes.”

It's almost 10am, which Dean doesn't find out until Sam glances at his phone to see what might be open. They find a diner and take a booth near the door. Sam makes a joke about needing some kind of spell to test the food for suspicious substances, and then suddenly blurts out, “I forgive you. I get why you ran.”

“Shut up,” Dean answers, but his tone is fond and Sam smiles, understanding.

While they wait for their order, Dean tells them what he found out about Erin, and that he has no idea if he's still actually tracking her or just random chicks on motorcycles. They all decide it's useless at this point to keep going, and agree to head back to the bunker.

“What did you drive here, anyway?” Dean asks around a mouthful of pancakes.

Sam winces. “We had to steal a car, I let Cas pick. He chose a '78 Continental.”

Dean chokes on his food.

“I like it!” Castiel says defensively.

Still sniggering, Dean reaches over and pats Castiel on the shoulder. “You fight for your tastes, Cas,” he says. “No matter how weird.”

~

Somehow, Castiel ends up in the front seat. It's weird, but not as weird as it might have been even a year ago, before Castiel really became a constant thing in their lives. The fact that Sam is sprawled over the bench seat helps. He has one hand on the back of Dean's neck to let him know he's still there, and if the way he kneaded at the tense muscles was weird at first, it's just kinda nice now.

They've gotten comfortable with each other in the two weeks Dean's been gone. Not that they weren't before. Sam and Cas have developed a considerably deeper friendship since Castiel moved into the bunker, but now, well. Now they touch constantly, easily. Castiel plays with Sam's fingers in a way that's both adorable and kind of hot, and occasionally he buries a hand in Sam's hair and just leaves it there. Sam's all over the place. He plays with the hair at the nape of Cas's neck, trails fingers over his shoulders and collarbone, and a few times he heaves himself further over the seat just so he can kiss Castiel. Dean tensed up at first, but now each time they do it he finds himself less and less concerned by it.

They touch Dean, too. Constantly. Castiel will put a hand on Dean's knee or his arm, light enough to not be distracting, and Sam keeps up that gentle kneading at his neck until Dean tells him to knock it off only because he's concerned he'll fall asleep at the wheel. But neither of them try to kiss him again, and it has Dean both a little relieved and completely confused.

They stop for the night somewhere in Wyoming. The town is small, and the fair they pass is even smaller, but Sam convinces Dean and Castiel to go anyway. They check into a motel and walk to it. The entire thing is made up of three rides, a handful of games, and a ridiculous amount of food stalls. Dean's eying a stand promising lots of greasy goodness when he has a flashback to the spell, and finds himself turning to look at Cas.

“You kept saying you wanted everything.”

Castiel tips his head. He glances at Sam, who smiles encouragingly.

“You made me curious about human experience even before I fell,” Castiel says finally. “But since I have become fully human, I find I'm almost desperate for it. There are so many things I've never done.”

Dean feels so guilty he has to fight to keep the wince off his face. Fuck, for the last year there was so much they could have done, besides go on hunts and show Cas movies and video games.

“Fairground food seems like a good place to start,” Dean says, and he's stupidly proud of himself for how light he manages to make his tone.

They try something at every single stall they come across. Castiel hates corn dogs and anything with caramel in it, which is fine because Dean eats everything he doesn't want. Funnel cakes and cotton candy are taken so well that Dean actually starts to worry about cavities, which is supposed to be Sam's job.

“We're gonna make him sick,” Sam comments about an hour later, when Castiel is trying his sixth type of soda. So far, he hasn't liked any of them.

“Then he'll throw up and not do it again,” Dean says with a shrug. “It'll be another new experience for him.”

Castiel thrusts his newest cup at Dean. “These all taste fake. Does all soda taste fake?”

Dean takes a sip. Rootbeer. “It's crappy fairground soda,” Dean says with a shrug. “Wanna try a lemonade?”

Castiel likes lemonade. Particularly strawberry lemonade.

“I thought we'd fed him more than this,” Dean mentions to Sam while Castiel pokes dubiously at an elephant ear. They've both had to assure him repeatedly that it isn't _actually_ an elephant's ear.

“Me too,” Sam says with a wince. “I feel kinda guilty now. We need to take him shopping with us more often so he can get stuff he likes. Kevin, too.”

Dean starts to nod, and then freezes. “Kevin. What... did you guys?”

Sam snorts. He lays a hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezes. “He's aware. He thinks it's, and I quote 'gross, but whatever, can't exactly blame you guys.' He gets this life is hard and doesn't really blame us for any of it. But he did threaten bodily harm to every one of us if he ever sees too much.”

Huh. Okay. Go Kev. Dean doesn't say anything else and Sam, for once, lets it go.

The only three rides are a Ferris Wheel, a carousel, and something called a Tilt-A-Whirl. Dean flat out refuses to go anywhere near the carousel because it's “for kids.” This does not stop Castiel or Sam from taking a ride on the damn thing while Dean sulks in the dark and pretends he doesn't know either of them. Castiel gets both of them to promise to take one ride with him on the Ferris Wheel, but by the time he comes down from his first ride he’s discovered he's afraid of heights. Which is just about the funniest thing Dean's ever heard in his _life,_ considering Cas used to fly, but Sam threatens to tell Cas about Dean's fear of airplanes so he drops it.

The Tilt-A-Whirl is pretty fun, even if Castiel gets sick after and Dean's world doesn't stop spinning for a good five minutes.

“We probably shouldn't have fed you so much,” Sam's saying as he rubs Castiel's back. He hasn't actually thrown up, but he's bent over with his hands braced on his knees and looks like he could any second.

“I'm not a child, Sam.” Castiel's voice is rough with annoyance. “I could have said no.”

Sam just smiles and rubs his back some more. When Castiel groans and closes his eyes, Dean decides it's time for them to go back to the motel.

The walk and some water help Castiel feel better. It's late when they get inside, so Dean heads straight to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Sam and Cas seem to think this is a great idea, and manage to squeeze into the tiny bathroom with him.

“Really, guys?” Dean mumbles around his toothbrush. Sam trips over Dean's foot and Castiel plasters up against Dean's back reaching for his own toothbrush, which somehow devolves into a weird sort of wrestling match.

“Gimme some space!” Dean yells, but he's laughing when he says it, and he laughs harder when Sam slumps over both of them and pins them to the sink.

Sam and Cas share a bed that night, which isn't so unusual but it still kinda surprises Dean. He almost expected them to try and squish onto the same bed, or at least one of them to sleep with him. After all the touching and closeness it's nice to have a bit of room to breathe.

Or at least, he thinks it is, until he wakes up around midnight with one hand hanging off the bed so he can cling to Castiel's hand.

~

By the time they get back to the bunker, Dean's terrified.

It took them four days to get home, and during that time he's gotten used to them. He's gotten used to Sam kneading his neck, and Castiel gripping his thigh or his arm. To them kissing each other when they're sure he's looking, and even when they're not. He's gotten used to them crowding him in the bathroom and playing footsie under the table. Which is more complicated with three people than Dean would have thought, but that's beside the point.

The point is that Dean's pretty sure this is it. Neither Sam or Cas has tried to kiss him again, and he's almost positive that once they're inside, it's going to happen. He has all these reasons that they shouldn't, but every time one of them touches him, he has a few less.

And they _know it._ He can see it when they look at him, or share a smile with each other.

So Dean blurts out, “I'm gonna wash Baby, she's been through a rough couple of weeks.”

To his shock, Sam says, “Okay, I'll go let Kevin know we're back,” and disappears into the bunker.

“I'm going to look for any signs that Erin may have settled in a new town,” Castiel tells him, and follows after Sam.

So Dean washes the Impala. He takes his time, scrubbing so thoroughly that even her tires shine by the time he's done, and when he finally goes inside he has himself half convinced that he dreamed up the last few days.

Until Castiel comes out of the kitchen with a sandwich, and presses a kiss to Dean's cheek when he gives it to him. A kiss to Dean's fucking _cheek,_ all sweet and chaste and Dean wants to snort and brush it off, at least pretend he's disgusted, but instead finds himself grinning down at his shoes.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean mumbles, disgusted with himself but unable to stop smiling. “Did you find anything?”

“No, she seems to be keeping a low profile.” Castiel pauses with a small frown. “That is the correct term?”

Dean nods, and takes a bite of his sandwich.

The day passes fairly normally, aside from the fact that Kevin seems to have made himself very scarce. Dean relaxes in small increments until he eventually finds himself on the couch watching Bullitt. Or really, he just has it playing so he can relax and zone out. Castiel is sitting on the other end of the couch, watching with real curiosity. Sam, Dean realizes distantly, hasn't shown his face in a couple of hours now.

“Did Sam go to sleep?” Dean asks.

Castiel smiles, and doesn't look away from the screen.

Hands slide onto Dean's shoulders. Thumbs immediately dig into the muscles of Dean's neck, and Dean doesn't have time to stop the soft groan as he melts into it. Fuck, Sam's good at this, hits all the right spots with just the right amount of pressure, and the heat coming off his skin just makes him relax that much more.

“We didn't touch each other while you were gone.”

Dean goes very, very still. He keeps his eyes on the screen when he feels Sam's hair brush the left side of his face.

“I mean, we did,” Sam continues, conversationally. “Casually. And we kissed… a lot. Just to make sure the attraction was real, of course.”

“'course,” Dean manages to croak. Sam's hands have moved down to his shoulders now, fingers curling in just over his collarbone and thumbs rubbing along his spine.

Sam leans in even closer. When he speaks, his breath rushes hotly over Dean's ear.

“We did touch ourselves, though.”

Dean lets out a hiss and drops his head back against Sam's shoulder. Sam takes advantage, diving in and sucking a wet kiss just under Dean's jaw before he moves back up to Dean's ear. He licks over the shell of it, bites down just enough to make Dean jump and huffs a soft laugh against Dean's temple.

“Cas told me all kinds of filthy things he wants us to do to him.” Sam murmurs, and Dean doesn't even bother trying to stop the moan that forces out of him. “Didn't you, Cas?”

When Sam addresses Cas, Dean can't not look. He turns his head and finds Castiel barefoot and shirtless, still on the far side of the couch but laid back so he's facing them, braced up on his elbows and knees spread so he can watch.

“I did,” Castiel says. He's trying for conversational too, Dean thinks, but his voice is too low, too rough to really pull it off. “Would you like me to tell you, Dean?”

“Yeah,” Dean breathes. His heart is pounding hard and his breath is coming in short pants, but it's less worried and more arousal. “Yeah, tell me.”

“Tell him that one kink in particular,” Sam says, and there's just enough of an order in his tone to make Dean shiver. He tips his head so Dean can see his face, and grins down at him.

“I was thinking about you biting me.” Cas's voice is growing rougher but he's still calm, how the fuck are they both so calm? “Both of you. I find the idea of bearing your marks very exciting.”

“Fuck, yeah.” Dean finds himself leaning towards Cas. Sam's hand is on the back of his head, guiding him.

“He wants to be sore the next day, remember what we did to him,” Sam says, and his voice is sharper now. “You gonna help him with that, Dean?”

Sam pushes a little harder, and Dean rolls onto his front, getting his feet up on the couch so he can lie across Castiel's body. Sam continues to push, guiding him down until Dean's face is buried in the warm crook of Castiel's neck, arched for him in offering. Dean draws in a deep breath, smells some citrusy soap and the first salty hint of sweat.

Then he sinks his teeth into the juncture of Castiel's neck and shoulder. He bites down hard, stopping just shy of actually breaking skin, and he shivers when Castiel cries out and arches into it.

“Fuck, _yes,_ ” Sam hisses. His hand disappears from Dean's head and then reappears a second later. When Dean comes up with a gasp, he finds Sam kneeling on the floor beside them.

“Sam,” Dean says helplessly, and then Sam's kissing him, gripping hard with that one hand like Dean has any hope of escaping them now.

Sam kisses him like he did under the spell, like he's trying to take Dean apart as carefully as possible in order to get as deep inside as he can. And like last time, Dean doesn't bother trying to control it, he just opens up and lets Sam lick inside. He can feel Castiel shifting under him, then lips on his jaw, mouthing slowly downwards until Sam pulls back and lets Castiel take his place. Dean takes charge of this one, bites at Castiel's lips and tongue and then soothes the sting away, encouraged by the little whimpers Castiel releases into his mouth.

Cas _jerks_ suddenly _,_ letting out a strangled cry that makes Dean shove himself up on his hands to make sure he's all right. Sam has dipped down behind Castiel. He has his teeth sunk firmly into the back of Castiel's neck and his free hand wrapped around Castiel's forehead, holding him in place. Sam growls into Cas's skin, like an animal demanding submission and Castiel just _gives it,_ goes limp in Sam's grip.

The sight sets off something primal in Dean. He dives down, nips at Castiel's jaw and neck before working his way south. Castiel's chest is heaving with the effort of his breaths, but Dean still gets a nipple between his teeth and bites down hard. He rubs his thumb over the other in a gentle counterpoint. Castiel doesn't even cry out, just trembles and pants like he can't possibly draw in enough air.

“That good, Cas?”

Dean releases Cas's nipple, flicks his tongue over it before he lifts his head. Sam is standing, holding Castiel up by the back of the neck while he digs his thumb into the first bite mark Dean left in his shoulder. Castiel flinches every time Sam presses in, but he doesn't ask him to stop.

“Yes.” Castiel arches back into Sam. Sam, who's still fully clothed and so damn _calm,_ and Dean's surprised by how much he likes that.

“Come on,” Sam says suddenly. He releases Castiel and steps away, holding a hand out to each of them. Castiel takes one readily, but he doesn't stand until Dean has hesitantly taken Sam's other hand and allowed his brother to pull him upright.

Sam lets them both go once they're standing and heads towards the stairs. They're about halfway up when Dean says, “I don't think any of the beds will hold all of us.” He’s aiming for a light tone, but it comes out kind of strangled. Beside him, Castiel smiles and slides a hand up Dean's back, soothing.

“You'll see,” is all the reply Dean gets.

Sam guides them down the to the very far end of the hall, opposite Kevin's room. This room is just like any other bedroom in the bunker, except for one major difference. Instead of a neat little twin bed, there is a massive, king-size mattress thrown on the floor. It's covered simply in what looks like a brand new, dark red fitted sheet, and nothing else.

“Cas and I thought it would be a good idea to have a shared space,” Sam says when Dean just stands there and stares. “That way if we want to we can sleep in our own beds, and still have our own spaces. Or, I don't know, maybe Cas will go to the store and you and I just can't wait and he'll know where to find us.”

Sam smiles hopefully as he blurts out that last bit. Dean smiles back without really thinking, gotta assure Sammy—then he does think about it. Thinks about falling into this bed with one of them, the other popping his head in, grinning, maybe watching for a minute before crawling up to join them…

“Yeah,” Dean blurts. “That’s… yeah.”

He steps inside, and allows them to pull him down onto the bed.

 

~

Unlike the first, sort-of-drug-induced time, this time there is hesitancy. Things don’t fit. Noses bump and chins are hit with elbows and at one point, Dean laughs so hard he can’t breathe. Cas gets it in his head that he needs to play with Sam’s toes, which makes him giggle, but he lets Cas do it anyway. Dean tries (and succeeds, actually) to blow them both at the same time and Sam never makes good on his promise to fuck them, at least not this time, which is fine. Great, even. There’s no rush.

It’s an hour or two later, they’re lying in a sweaty pile and Dean mumbles “Next time,” into Sam's neck. “You're gonna do what you did to Cas while I was gone. Tell us what to do.”

“Mm, yeah. Lay you both out and let you touch yourselves, but not each other. Sounds good. But you know what sounds even better?”

Dean lifts his head. Castiel has shifted to curl against his back and is gazing warmly down at Dean, and Sam... Sam has this huge grin on his face, and he can't seem to stop even when he lunges forward to kiss Dean, and then Cas, and he only grins harder when he pulls back enough to let Cas kiss Dean, too.

“What?” Dean finally sputters, laughing when they both dive down to press more kisses into his cheeks and forehead.

Castiel settles with his nose pressed into the back of Dean's neck, and sighs contentedly.

“You said 'next time,'” Sam says around his big, stupid grin.

Sam slings an arm over Dean and Cas. Dean falls asleep like that, too hot and sweaty, and perfectly happy to stay that way until morning.

~

END


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